


The Sound of a Smile

by Atisenia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Supernatural Elements, Tumblr: letswritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atisenia/pseuds/Atisenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if you could hear people smile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of a Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock's [Challenge 4](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/57895078483/challenge-3-the-songfic-challenge-continues).  
> Wow, that so didn't turn up the way it was intended. But I suppose we write as we can and not always as we want to. And since I did write it and it's a huge progress from not being able to write, I figured I can as well post it. Let me know what you think, if you like. Also, any suggestions about the tags would be helpful. I'm not really sure how to classify this story.  
> Once again, English is not my first language so there could be mistakes. You're welcome to point them out.;)

Friday evening found John bent over a dead body. One of the two that were lying close to each other on the bed in a morbid resemblance of a lovers’ embrace.

He stopped questioning his life choices ages ago.

“John?” Sherlock said impatiently.

“Yes, give me a minute.”

“ _John_ …”

“Don’t you have a witness to harass while I work?”

Sherlock smiled behind him and it was a strange mix of his normal, self-satisfied smirk and that new fond smile John didn’t know what to think about. He stopped his examinations for a moment and listened to the strange melody he wasn’t used to yet. It sounded like one of Sherlock’s latest compositions — all soft notes that bore traces of dangerous undertones.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and flashed Sherlock a smile of his own.

“Seriously, Sherlock,” he said. “Go get the information. I’ll be done by then.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose with obvious disdain and the melody stopped.

“I already know what he’s going to say,” Sherlock complained and crossed his arms.

“You might be surprised,” John told him, looking at the dead woman’s chest.

“I almost never am.” John heard a touch of regret in his friend’s voice and smiled.

“Well,” he started, “you may want to ask him why would a poisoned woman feel the need to stab herself with a knife.”

He turned to look at Sherlock who grinned loudly. John loved these simply delighted smiles that attacked his senses with intense, joyous sequences.

“Do try to be quick, John,” Sherlock said and disappeared behind the living room door.

John rolled his eyes and fought hard to contain a chuckle. There was no one in the room with him but it never hurt to be too careful. The police still considered him as mostly sane and a balance to Sherlock’s brusque behaviour.

He determined the most probable cause of death (and toxicology should confirm his suspicions), the time and all the little details that didn’t quite fit with what the press was already calling the _Romeo and Juliet Suicide_. Well, John would just have to think of a better title for his blog.

As he discarded the gloves, he slowly became aware of a well-known melody coming from the living room. He snorted. He couldn’t understand how the witnesses and clients and even occasionally people who knew Sherlock quite well could fall for his fake smiles. John would be able to tell the difference even if he didn’t hear the straining, off-key melody that hurt his ears whenever Sherlock consciously modelled his lips into a smile.

He shook his head and was about to enter the living room when he realized that something was not quite right with the tune. Under familiar notes, there was a silent, hidden tone that sounded more sad and _hurt_ than the usual off-key violin screeching. John frowned and stepped into the other room, just to see Mycroft Holmes standing in front of his younger brother. Sherlock paced with manic energy and violent gesticulation while the other Holmes just looked at him with fond amusement.

 “... poisoned if she was going to stab herself,” Sherlock’s voice reached John when he came closer. “Don’t you understand, Mycroft? It was sloppy. I don’t care if she’s a government agent or a _spy_ ,” he spit out. “I’m only saying it wasn’t suicide! I was right about Carl Powers and I’m right about this one!”

“So you say,” came Mycroft’s reply. “But, pray tell, are you even familiar with _Romeo and Juliet_?”

A few amused snorts made John grit his teeth.

Sherlock’s eyes swept from Mycroft to John and back. He smiled again, the same deceptively pleasant smile that just looked and sounded _wrong_ , and then walked out of the building. John was tempted to go after him but he needed to do something first.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice calm but dangerously on edge.

Mycroft looked at him with a frown, apparently unconcerned by his brother’s departure.

“Ah, John,” Mycroft said, examining the handle of his omnipresent umbrella. “This case is now under the government’s jurisdiction.”

John took a deep breath.

“Why?” he asked. It got him a sharp look that stopped being intimidating a long time ago. “Only, I don’t see anyone else walking out of here. No agents replacing the police. Tell me, Mycroft, is everyone in Scotland Yard on your payroll or is it just Sherlock you wanted to get rid of?”

John was aware of the progressively uneasy looks he was getting but he didn’t particularly care. He kept his eyes locked with Mycroft’s, daring him to answer.

Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh.

“So melodramatic,” he said. John’s hand twitched. “Do I detect Sherlock’s influence?”

“He’s right, you know? It wasn’t suicide. And I could prove it to you but don’t expect me — or Sherlock, for that matter — to solve this case for you now.”

John started walking away when Mycroft’s voice reached him again.

“And you’d endanger national security for this childish feud? I expected more from a soldier.”

John stopped, took a deep breath and turned around, his tightly clenched fists the only visible sign of his agitation. He looked at Mycroft, tilted his head and smiled.

“You hurt him,” he said, calmly. “You found a weakness of his and you used it to reach your goal, whatever it is, and you did it in front of people who wait for something like this to happen. Tell me, Mycroft, is this how the British government deals with problems?”

He didn’t manage to get a reaction from the man but he didn’t really expect one. He could hear nervous smiles around him though, so he made at least some of them uncomfortable.

Good.

“You seem to overestimate my brother’s ability to care.”

John snorted and smiled in a dangerously innocuous way.

“We’re done here,” he said and walked out of the building.

He didn’t bother hailing a taxi. Sherlock might be willing to trade food for cab fares but John was not, so he headed for the nearest Tube station. He pushed the smiling sounds into the background, just like he’d taught himself to do so many years ago, and only let them flow when he was comfortably seated on the train.

The conflicting sounds of different instruments in various keys quickly made the resulting cacophony overwhelming.

John sighed and muted the out of tune melody. His life used to be very difficult before he learned to control the sounds and even then, he needed time to really learn how to live with his abilities.

It was so... impractical. All the superheroes he adored as a child had fancy superpowers like flying or invisibility and he just heard people smile. It was a family trait that didn’t save his sister (“They’re all so loud, how can you stand it? How can you listen to the pity, John? Tell me!”) and it nearly drove their mother insane with constant paranoia (“They’re just faking! I can hear it! I can _hear_ it!”).

It did sometimes help him work with his patients so maybe it wasn’t as useless as he thought it to be.

Finally, John got off the Tube and tried to brace himself for what he’d find at home. The flat was eerily quiet. John was attuned to Sherlock in more ways than one though, so he just knocked on his friend’s bedroom door and when he didn’t get any answer, he let himself in anyway.

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” Sherlock asked, without the usual scorn.

“I did knock,” John said and sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned to Sherlock, giving him some space.

They let the silence reign for some time.

“I solved the case,” Sherlock said at last.

“I know.”

“It wasn’t double suicide, it wasn’t even murder-suicide! The man was murdered too.”

“I know.”

“The needle marks on his right arm. He was clearly right handed and—“

“Yes,” John interrupted him and risked a glance over his shoulder. “But it’s not our case anymore.”

Sherlock sighed with irritation.

“Mycroft cannot—“

“Actually, I told him we’re not working on this case anymore.”

John felt Sherlock’s intense gaze burn holes in his back and he stopped himself from fidgeting.

“He doesn’t get to hurt you and then use you to do his legwork for him,” he added when the silence grew uncomfortable and he couldn’t see Sherlock’s reaction. “Not when I have something to say about it.”

Some tentative smiling notes finally began filling the silence.

“We went to see the play...” Sherlock said and his smile turned into a smirk. John rolled his eyes. “You fell asleep.”

“Don’t remind me,” John said and ran a hand through his hair. They were both smiling now. At times like this, John regretted not being able to hear his own smiles. They could have made a lovely duet.

“I was in the acting club at school.” That made John turn to properly look at Sherlock. He wasn’t the type to share personal details lightly and every time he did, John treasured it. “I was good at it and others were... tolerable. I never deleted it.”

John smirked.

“Did you play Juliet?”

Sherlock chuckled. What a beautiful sound it was on its own.

“No,” he said. “But I was Eliza in _Pygmalion_ once.”

That sent both of them into a giggling fit.

“Well, you do know how to act,” John said when he could catch a breath again, mainly because he turned his back on Sherlock. “If I find pictures, you can expect blackmail.”

Sherlock snorted and then grew serious all of the sudden.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

“About the pictures? Well, doing the dishes from time to time wouldn’t kill you, you know, and if you had a proper incentive...”

“No one cares about the dishes!” Sherlock huffed. “Why does it bother you what others think about me? It’s incredibly unlikely to ever appear in the press and can only hurt my poor metaphorical heart, the existence of which is still debatable. So. Why do you care?”

John took a deep breath and turned to face Sherlock again.

“Do you really need to ask?”

He almost regretted it the moment Sherlock’s eyes started scanning him for answers but he needed Sherlock to know and so he just looked at him, trying to conceal the pounding of his heart behind a calm demeanour. Then Sherlock’s face did something complicated and he heard the smile even before he could see it.

Until that very moment, John loved Sherlock’s hidden smiles the most. They sounded like secret messages never meant to be known and yet John knew them all.

But, oh, the sound of Sherlock’s lips stretching into a smile against his own, might just be John’s new favourite thing.

After that, they lay side by side on Sherlock’s bed, trying to fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing, John enjoyed how simply content the lazy smile on Sherlock’s lips was.

“Stop smiling so loudly,” Sherlock said and John’s heart skipped a beat.

“You... you can hear—?”

“No, idiot! That would be ridiculous! Also impossible.” A pause, and then, “but if I can hear you think, I _could_ hear you smile.”

John could only try to stop himself from grinning too obviously.


End file.
